It was just after midnight when Robaire Noel pulled his BMW out of the driveway and headed toward East Freedom, the bohemian section of town, a once-bustling neighborhood that had fallen on hard times, but was currently enjoying a renaissance.
Johnny was driving and he followed at a distance with his lights off as Robaire zigzagged the side streets, finally stopping and parking in the lot behind the Elysium Masonic Temple, at the intersection of Green and Mawby avenues.
Johnny found parking in front of a hydrant on the tiny side street behind the temple.
Robaire was out of the BMW, his backpack in hand. He stood at attention for a while, listening, checking the surroundings, making certain no one was about. Then he approached the temple and dropped his backpack in front of the wall.
The temple walls were comprised of aging, caramel-colored painted brick, several sections of which had faded over time. Robaire walked up and down the length of the wall, then returned to his backpack from which he removed several cans of spray-paint.
Johnny grabbed his iPhone and began filming Robaire’s activities. Together we watched as he sprayed huge circles of white paint on the temple wall. He quickly added red, green, and blue, and in short order filled the space with random designs that likely made sense only to him.
Johnny continued shooting as Robaire picked up a can of black paint and sprayed his ornate signature onto the wall.
He had just stepped back to admire his work when I rushed him from behind, wrapped him in a bear hug, swung my right leg into both of his ankles which caused him to lose balance and fall heavily to the ground. Which knocked the wind out of him.
I jumped on top of him and grabbed several plastic restraining ties from my belt. I secured his legs and arms with them. He was still gasping for breath when Johnny and I yanked him to his feet and frog-walked him to the Wrangler.
“What in the fuck do you think you’re doing? Do you know who I am?”
I opened the rear door and slammed him inside, purposely smashing his head on the doorframe. I climbed in beside him.
Johnny collected all of Robaire’s paraphernalia and tossed it into the Wrangler’s storage well. Then he got behind the wheel and we sped off.
The entire apprehension had taken less than two minutes.
We hightailed it to Freedom Police Headquarters where we hustled him into the detention center. Once he was planted in a cell, he looked at us with fear in his eyes.
“Deputy Sheriff Buddy Steel,” I said by way of introduction. “San Remo County. My associate is Deputy Sheriff John Kennerly. We’re very pleased to make your acquaintance at last. And, oh yeah, you should consider yourself under arrest. We’ll formalize it once we open for business in the morning.”
Robaire stormed to the cell bars and grabbed hold of a pair of them. “I want a phone call. I’m entitled to a phone call.”
“In the morning.”
He stood his ground. “You you know who I am? You can’t just incarcerate me without allowing me a phone call.”
“A regular jailhouse lawyer,” I commented to Johnny.
“I’m serious,” Robaire said. “You can’t do this.”
“Are you a citizen of Freedom Township?”
“No.”
“Are you familiar with Meeker Street?”
“No.”
“This isn’t going well, Robaire.”
He glowered at me.
I lowered my voice to a near whisper. “May I offer you a piece of advice?”
“What advice?”
“Lying to an officer of the law is a good way of getting yourself deeper into the shit.”
“Lawyer.”
“You should be grateful.”
“For what?”
“The food is better here than the slop they feed you in the County facilities.”
“Why am I under arrest?”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I’m not kidding. Why did you arrest me?”
“Because I don’t like you.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“Really?”
“I’m serious.”
“For your sake, I hope you are, Mr. Noel. Or should I say, Mr. Robber Xmas? That name does ring a bell, doesn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
I had had my fill of him for one night. “You know what? It’s late and you’re making me cranky. Why don’t you think things over and we’ll pick this up when I come back?”
I headed for the door.
“Do you know who I am?” he shouted. “You have no business arresting me like this.”
“Tell it to the judge,” I snapped and left him standing there, still gripping the cell bars.